Often, films employing characters with disabilities are met with polarized opinions. There’s a huge section of our population that loves some of these films for their ability to make you cry at the suffering and the struggle of the disabled to survive in a cruel world. And there are a few like me who scream: “Stop that blatant emotional manipulation. Disability is not something you use to milk the audience for sympathy.”
Yet, nothing’s changed if we are to go by recent releases – Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s ‘Guzaarish’ or Mysskin’s tribute to Takeshi Kitano, ‘Nandalala’. These are both films I hated.
In Guzaarish, the protagonist is a quadriplegic who now pleads with the judge to be allowed to die, because even if the court is willing to come home for the hearing, his support system literally needs to carry his wheelchair down the stairs.
It’s easy to see why THAT fictional character wants to die – because the person who wrote him for screen did not bequeath him or anyone who is part of his world the basic intelligence of installing a disability ramp in his lavish two-floored mansion for 14 years or considered the possibility of him shifting to a smaller home closer to a hospital.
Worse, the character’s only and biggest argument to be allowed to die is to compare such existence with being locked in a box. As metaphoric as it may be, that’s a dangerous thought to put into any quadriplegic’s head, especially when there are so many options available today to improve the quality of life. Any filmmaker who suggests that death is the only way out, just to make you shed a tear for a stupid uni-dimensional character he has written, needs therapy.
Nandalala is far worse. It pretends to celebrate disability but reinforces every stereotype associated with the mentally ill. To understand how twisted Nandalala is, one has to watch the original – Takeshi Kitano’s Kikujiro.
Kikujiro is the story about a boy who goes in search of his mother and he’s accompanied by an eccentric gambler played by Kitano himself.
During their road trip, the child and the child at heart encounter many colourful characters who make their journey memorable, despite the setbacks they face in their quest. It’s a bitter-sweet film that suggests that life sends you angels in different forms when you need them.
Mysskin retains almost the same storyline in his tribute film but replaces the eccentric gambler with a mentally-ill film stereotype, the kind that indulges in exaggerated violent behaviour. If Kikujiro sublimely hints that there’s insanity in all of us, Nandalala suggests that the insane are human too. Oh really?
Mysskin’s Kikujiro escapes from an institution, gets violent and beats a driver bloody when called “Mental.” He later breaks beer bottles on the head of a rash driver for the sake of infusing comedy into the narrative. And if such manipulation of stereotypes wasn’t enough, Mysskin makes every other character the duo meet on their way disabled and struggling in one way or the other, choosing to dwell on their sorry state instead of their spirit.
For instance, there’s a guide who turns out to have a walking disability and the man hops around using a piece of wood as his crutch. Just when you are about to salute Mysskin for finally showing us a man with spirit, the filmmaker makes sure he collapses of exhaustion and cries. If that does not get you moist-eyed, how about getting some bad guys to attack him with a sickle, break his stick and cut his real leg? Yes!
Mysskin, unfortunately, picks all the wrong ingredients from the success of his action film ‘Anjathey’ to manipulate the audience into feeling sorry for the disabled.
In Anjathey, a character called Kuruvi, is actually played by an actor with disability of the limb. His one arm is significantly shorter than the other. We are made to feel sorry for this character all through and towards the end, Kuruvi is made to sport a T-shirt with a dove on it. The accompanying text on the tee says Peace. Poor Kuruvi gets shot. Cue in the tears. Close-up of Kuruvi’s little arm flapping like a wing. Cue in a sad background score. And, death!
While many in the hall were moved to tears, I am horrified at such gross, callous manipulation of disability.
What Bhansali or Mysskin or even Bala (in Sethu or Naan Kadavul) do not seem to understand is that it is high time disability is treated with dignity and sensitivity. It is time to shift characters from institutions that alienate the disabled further and move them into homes of a more inclusive society. That’s the first step to alleviate suffering.
“We are only depicting reality” is no excuse to reinforce stereotypes. And even if you choose to show only the truly suffering, please do not press that trigger for tears by firing from their shoulders. If you are capable, how about doing that without involving those who are suffering because of their disabilities. They do not want your pity and don’t you dare go around collecting tears as alms on their behalf.
The disabled deserve dignity of life and, at least, once in a while, a film like Nagesh Kukunoor’s ‘Iqbal’ or Radha Mohan’s ‘Mozhi’ that captures their spirit to live against the odds. The way we treat them, the way we look at them – in life and on film – is one of those odds we can help them fight.
Respect them and be respected. Unless you have a filmmaking-related disability.
MADRAS INK. 